We had 10 years together. The technological sound, the romanza, of printer and creator, our characters made music together.
That sound I know so well. After creation and then out comes the published satisfaction. The freedom to think, create and print is still a revolution to me. Even if it is only my own little voice under a blue, raining, or black evening sky. My high and our bliss!
A focused effort together. My voice, our voice… gone.
This printer is obsolete. The HP Offset 6230 ePirnteris dead. Just like in the film 2001: A Space Odyssey when the Hal 9000 started to screw up. After about 10 years I gently removed myself from my publishing friend.
The little sounds you made letting me know that it was you who, with savvy, was moving the planned projects forward. Fresh printed ink on paper. Now I say goodbye… RIP.
Something is in the air here at Flopside Comics ! Whirling power ramp-up takes down the EVIL! Bring down the power of assholes of highest degree ! Bring clarity to the opposing chaos and negative propaganda! A direct and focused SUPER FUCK! It’s real magic!
A promise of bliss and orgasmic creative variables for the incorruptible !
Today The Seminary of Praying Mantis has just published the first book (chapbook) of poetry.
A great accomplishment for me today. My first published book of poetry. DIY of highest degree with all the respect due to the many others who share their passion. It is just a hell of a happy day… just one step… of making my dreams come true.
My favorite Marilyn Monroe film is Clash by Night. It is a rather unknown film Noir with leading lady Barbara Stanwyck. The reason I like this film is because Marilyn’s character is so good. She is charming, sexy, cute, and loyal. The beginning of a great dramatic actress. There are some remarkable scenes shared by Barbara and Marilyn. One particular scene I love is when they do a walk tight together.
They connect and do a deep dip walk with long strides. As if the whole world disappears and it is just them on stage. Real vaudeville bump and grind.
Defiantly affirming their place in the world. It makes me cry and feel as if I could join right in. In general, their relationship portrayed in this film seems good, playful, and accepting; the older actress making way for the younger one.
I enjoy studying Barbara Stanwyck’s Noir films. They have that dip into the dark side of reality that is pulling at all the right emotions. There is nothing like her type of Film Noir.
Sham 69 are playing around. Shows with good and bad reviews. As though my heart does not sense the beating heart of another comrade, from my youthful rebellion, who touches the soil of the land.
Dancing around and around in my room like Rumpelstiltskin around a fire singing these simple words;
“They don’t understand no they don’t understand They don’t wanna understand…”
These are my first dancing memories of punk rock. As I spiraled into the heart of it… I also spiraled out. Seeing with peripheral vision the shadows of days gone by, I am often pulled again into this guilty, responsibility of a musical addition.
As a succubus that pulls at my firmer soul, I pull it off. I hold by conscience, my individual power and resist this. Jumping into the anger of youthful rebellion. I am not her anymore. Reflective and mature and proud… I can take it. Nothing to prove or take with me…but friendship.
No affirmation of great things to hold on to. As the rogue wave of darkness envelops those we love in death. So too the scene that once was is slowly taken away by this same darkness. Happy for the boys in the band that linger on…for now!!
“Everyone keeps telling me I’m gonna be free. We all know we’ll never be free.”
I am sure there are multi-billion dollar businesses to kill the dandelion. ~ Mr. Leprechaun.
“I noticed that there are dandelions growing in everyone’s garden after the rain.
I am sure there are multi-billion-dollar businesses to kill the dandelion.”
~ Mr. Leprechaun
I have wild places in my garden where I let the dandelions grow freely. The birds like them, and the bees and hummingbirds love them. Yellow green sturdy little wild things they are. I love them too. This is an ode to them.
While almost asleep and with the window open to feel the breeze during my nap time, I heard a little story in the wind …
“Did you know that if you let the dandelion grow in your garden and on your lawn, it is the perfect place for a little leprechaun to rest; in case they cannot find a mushroom that is?”
“Oh,” I said.
“If you walk by and see one drinking, it may very well be dandelion beer. They will ask to share some with you. Their pints are about as big as they are. It would be about a cup full for a human being.”
“I see.” I yawned.
So, the story I heard is this and it became strangely intimate.
“If you are kind enough to take a sip of me earthy brew, a couple of valuable gold coins will show up on your front door dear.”
“Really I whispered?”
“Yes, and as you pick up the gold, whisper to the wind how the beer tasted to you!”
“I see.”
Mr. Leprechaun continued on,
“I want the truth lassie. No lies. Then I will give you two more gold coins.”
I spoke,
“I hear you.”
“Share this story… if you will, Because I need them dandelions to make me brews!!”
KAREN: I guess at this point I am what the French call ‘de trop?’
BILL: (smiles) Maybe just a little around the edges.
~ All About Eve
Either you repeat the same conventional doctrines everybody is saying, or else you say something true, and it will sound like it is from Neptune.
~ Noam Chomsky
The sciences are a good thing. Rover on Mars looking back at the Earth is amazing. Yet reading Dante Alighieri’s biography I find that he studied liberal arts courses,
“Which offered Latin, geometry, arithmetic, astronomy (actually astrology) and music was to be passionately attached all his life.”
During the Middle Ages science, art and music were not separate as they are today. With astrology, the planets affect us. Now I wonder how our Earth affects those on Mars or the other planets in our solar system?
My point being is that science is a very bare bones reality where all its theories are well supported, at least enough to go to other planets via technology.
I feel what makes Dante so special to me is that he is the perfect person who, at one time, brought together science, art, and music. He is the perfected human being who shows us that having a soul is part of the human equation of being, and with an honest spirit humanity inspires to know all the stratosphere of human nature.
We are accountable for ourselves in a divine way. A highly creative solution to the problem of humanity!!! Humor included as Mr. Dante is no fool on this matter!!
Oldest son is just starting a physics course today at the local university. We often debate what is real and what is illusion, as two Gemini our Mercury fires up with heated dialogue.
And then there is Neptune. I love Neptune, the color and mystery of its round luminosity. I hear this week Mercury goes retrograde right into the belly of Neptune, astrologically speaking of course.
The week ahead is a time to feel. As Luna waxes strong into Valentine’s Day, it is a time of a kind of inner pregnancy of feelings; it may be a delightful time if we do not anally analyze too much.
I have decided to do the tango with Mercury, Luna, and Neptune this week…a threesome may be fun!! I will go with the flow, dance sweet and low and get it on the go.
Today illuminate your life by thinking of those friends that most inspire you!!
Red Roses watercolor by Hudley Flipside
“For Scorpio, the evolutionary aim is to face those shadowy places. To make the unconscious conscious. To break Taboos.”
Hare In The Moon Astrology
The 8th day of the holy days of Christmas brings us to the Hierarchy of Scorpio. This is a primal triad of my astrological signature. Scorpio and Neptune hand in hand are my ascendant rising planets. My life is this motif but not all the time. This takes me to two individual women who are my friends and teachers.
Gloria Hays was the head of the Esoteric Department of the Rosicrucian Fellowship and Shirley Sharp was the head of the Healing Department. This Rosicrucian Fellowship’s foundation is in Oceanside California and is based on the teachings of Max Heindel.
Gloria was a spiritual diplomat of the highest degree. She was a hostess and spiritual adviser and my friend. I use to love to watch Shirley play the organ in the Temple, barefoot. Her passion for music sounded the magic; ascending and descending on those of us sitting in the healing temple. We were surrounded by the 12 Hierarchies. These two women were my champions of light in the darkness.
It has always been a passion of mine to study the mysteries of life and death; Gloria and Shirley are my friends on this journey. Today my focus for this holy of holies day is on the two of them as teachers and friends. Rest In Peace and…
The hierarchy of Gemini illuminates our hands today.
A Flower…Mom, camera and Holly 1990’s by Hudley
“They are to be visualized as flower centers, fragrant, luminous and endowed with the precious gifts of healing, and bestowing benediction” Pg. 11
Yet maybe a nice hug or pat on the back might be more down to earth and human. Anything that we do with our hands we can make it a caring or creative gesture; A moment of conscious awareness in action.
“Be still and Know that I am Goddess [God].” Psalm 46:10
Maia, is the Goddess of May the hierarchy of Gemini.
“Romeo:
If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.
Juliet:
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this;
For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch,
And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.
Romeo:
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?
Juliet:
Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.
Romeo:
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do;
They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.
Juliet:
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.
Insights and notes through the creative “thinking stings” from The Eranos lecture series; The Creative Pattern In Primitive Africa by Laurens van der Post
There is a part of our spirit to which this voice of Mantis, speaking from an age of stone to an age of men with hearts of stone, commands us with the authentic tone of eternal renewal..”
Pg. 40
Praying Mantis Mandala for The Bushmen of the Kalahari desert and their “Thinking Strings” by Hudley
I am in the process of reflecting on the lecture, The Creative Pattern In Primitive Africa by Laurens van der Post. The lecture speaks of the Bushmen of the Kalahari desert and their ancient mythologies that happen to include Praying Mantis as their own “Spirit of Creation.”
The Bushmen worshiped the Mantis and consulted him as an oracle. Pg 21.
I include in this post, from the lecture, a poem / lament “by a father of a bushman that lived over a hundred years ago… he was a rainmaker and a magician.”
Pg. 38
“People were those who
Broke for me the string
Therefore,
The place became like this to me,
On account of it,
Because the string was that which broke for me.
Therefore,
The place does not feel to me,
As the place used to feel to me,
On account of it.
For,
The place feels as if it stood open before me,
Because the string has broken for me,
Therefore,
The place does not feel pleasant to me,
On account of it.”
What is interesting to me is though Laurens van der Post naturally brings and weaves the Bushmen and Wolfgang von Goethe together in comparison as to the writing of their particular styles of poetry, I take it further by placing it in the continuity of music which highlights this post in a delightful way. An essence of what this brings together and what it very well means. I came upon a connection or “thinking string’ between Wolfgang von Goethe and the German band Kraftwerk.
The “thinking strings.” This is the process of reconnecting the “thinking strings.” A continuity of thoughts, dreams, magic, “stories from the wind” and life .
Listen to the music and read the poetry. I am asking for the feelings that it generates in you. It will provoke you. My hopeful goal is to tie the “thinking strings” together again and to find what may have been lost, which is the spiritual beauty of the Bushmen. The Bushmen are the foundation of this Lecture by Laurens van der Post. Reading it has had a profound effect on my life. I also wait for the “stories of life before and beyond the moment .”
The Bushmen, Goethe, Laurens van der Post and the Praying Mantis.
The Mantis will sit in an attitude of extreme reverence and contemplation, his head turned sometimes slightly on side as if he were waiting…for the wind to come from far beyond the mountains on the other side of the desert to bring him a story of life before and beyond the moment. ~ Pg. 22.
Faust (Goethe)/Prologue
THE LORD === THE HEAVENLY HOST Afterwards MEPHISTOPHELES
(The THREE ARCHANGELS come forward.)
“RAPHAEL
The sun-orb sings, in emulation, ‘Mid brother-spheres, his ancient round: His path predestined through Creation He ends with step of thunder-sound. The angels from his visage splendid Draw power, whose measure none can say; The lofty works, uncomprehended, Are bright as on the earliest day.”
On going study of this lecture, I had to edit this from last night because I was very numinous and happy… and at these times perfection is not my goal but communication.
Little boys become big boys in only a few years… Photo by Hudley
I see life growing around me, changing and there are so many new stories to tell… but with procrastination comes a hallow, a shadow of watching and waiting for you to move forward to the honey!!
Today one of my kid’s longtime friends, Sebastian-across the street, came over to say hello. They have been friends since the 4th grade. We had not visited with him for a couple of years. The first thing he asked me was,
“Have you published your book?”
“No… not yet… ah.”
“Oh you haven’t found a publisher yet?”
I remember that he was always curious about what I was doing on my little laptop computer about 6 to 8 years ago. I then excused myself to take the groceries in. Darn kids are great and when they become young men they are clear, strong and to the point.
I have been procrastinating. I finished the book years ago. It has a good solid foundation but needs a lot of editing and embellishment. Since then many books have been published on this particular subject of mine.
Kindling, wood and log support can help chase away evil procrastination…
Boredom, disillusionment and losing both my parents put a real damper on my need to promote it or even work on it. I also had a couple friends turn into Dementors and almost suck my very identity from me.
The face of trust eludes me these days, but Sebastian has given me the extra acknowledgment, reflective push and ambush to rekindle the fire in my will to move forward again. Kindling, wood and log support can help chase away evil procrastination.
“Lord, there goes a Buick forty-nine Black sheep of the angels riding, riding down the line We think there is a soul, we don’t know That soul is hard to find.”
“If all the world hated you, and believed you wicked, while your own conscience approved you, and absolved you from guilt, you would not be without friends.” – Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
VW Station Wagon Oceanside 2013 by Hudley
Talking is not my cup of tea. I drink beer to help me to be more social. To loosen my intense ego from my reflective brain. Beer is a good way to loosen up and talk.
I was told recently that beer, and the process of making beer, contains an evil spirit… I almost broke out with a laughter that would have showed how possessed I was…
I talk best by writing. Good writing contains threads and archetypes that echo real-life. I love reading autobiographies and embellished non-fiction stories.
Mythologies and fairy tales reach to the heart of a great mystery. This is why I started this blog. To work on writing and to tell my story. To not listen to the bullies in my head that come my way saying:
“You are not good enough to write”
I do it anyway.
“You are lousy at spelling”
I do it anyway.
“Your grammar sucks.”
I do it anyway.
“You will be laughed at and people will hate what you say.”
I do it anyway.
Writing a book or a blog just for ego acknowledgement is not my motive here. I want to inspire. I am inspired by others and by life. I want to remember and reach deep down and pull out something that matters… that is real.
I am happiest when I am writing. It would be a good thing to be able to make some money doing it.
Some are quick to write and come out with a book, I am very slow about it. It is the dreaming, writing and being in the process…that inspires me. I have found from past experience that completion sometimes is not always as joyous or good as the process. Being lost in writing a story, creating a piece of art, or creating something in general is my cup of tea!!
for a movements time…I love my trophy whore galore..
I have found errors and misspellings in the best uptown literally editorialized to the hundredth degree books, and I have witnessed perfection, on the streets, where a simple little hand-made fanzine was given to me.
I’ve been near editors that egos are so big that I sweat-back-from-putting-my-fist -in-their-faces, and those that say nothing and let me learn on my own accord; by example. I’ve witnessed professors telling me not to do this and that, when the author that they love so much does the very same thing.
Writing is like a magical dance between deduction and induction, where you might trip over your own thoughts. You can totally teach yourself to write, and with the aid of a reflective, talented, and (let’s face it) slightly psychic editor, it turns into a delightful storytelling adventure. Remember, writing doesn’t define who you are—it’s just putting stories on paper. I just wish some of those pompous writing critics would climb down from their lofty thrones and realize they’ve got big butts too! So, write, write, and write some more, or not. Your call!
I have never had a real person out-there mentor. My mentors have always been from books published by people long ago demised as William Blake or Carl Jung. When I read their work, it is not in a way as if to own it or to be an expert about their works. When I read their works, and see the images they have created, it is if they are here with me, beyond space and time showing me things.
They help me to affirm what I know and support my experiences. They are my mentors in this life. They show me the big picture and they teach me, they still do, about how to live in this world. They show me how to use my imagination and to share what I have created.
They help me understand power, strength, and insight. I have learned to love contradiction, humor, and metaphor. I have found bliss in creating mandalas, watercolors and grasping the hands of nature. They guide me in confronting my fears and remind me that I am not alone in a complex world; Blake and Jung both reveal that uniqueness is a form of brilliance.
Also, we as humans shouldn’t strive for this without its complementary and sometimes contrary opposite, which is to learn to be alike and the same as the most common and mundane.
It was a cold winter’s night, like this one, when I heard a soft knock on the door. I was alone. I did not see my kitty Dudea around. When she gets outside she makes a similar sound on the front door when she wants in.
“Ok Dudea, just a minute!”
I got off the couch from the warmth of the fire while reading a book and listening to some Jazz. Yes my blissful moment was interrupted. I opened the door. I looked around and I did not see my kitty,
“Hello, it is very cold tonight. The rain is coming down. I only have this scarf to keep me warm. I smelled the fire smoke from you home. Would you mind if I stood in front of your fire to warm up?”
I blinked and then blinked again.
“Sure!”
He came in the house with a push of the wind and the smell of the earth came in with him.
“Oh what a lovely hearth you have my dear!”
“Thank you!”
The elf then became very still and quite. He has been with us for about five years now. I do not bother him. I only touch him to clean him. I have heard that the “little-folk” come and go and sometimes stay. Their time frame is much different then ours.
This evening is much like the one five years ago when our little elf came to rest; by the fire, by our hearth.
I viewed a wonderful film last night on the Sundance Channel called Starting Out in the Evening last. This is not a critical review of the film but a sharing of the themes that the film inspired out of my life.
It was a film about age differences, maturity and art. It was about passion, greed and love. It is about a book that an author wrote when he was much younger, and a graduate student who falls in love with the man who wrote that book when he was that young man. It is about a picture of a young man and the real author who is now aged.
I think it is better to achieve fame and fortune later in life. For me it is a bummer for younger people to judge me by what I achieved when I was much younger. In the film this older author has moved on from the young man ideals of youth. Oh sure he talked about them and shared them with others. Yet, it was the here and now that was his real concern. I related to this completely.
We all get older and we often find ourselves in the mist of youngsters. Sometimes I do find it humorous to listen to the troubles of women in their 20s. They look at me like I don’t already know what they are experiencing. I am 54. I have had 11 lovers and my heart has been broken more than once. I have been independent, dependent: loved and hated. Nothing really shocks me anymore besides the way our culture sometimes treats children.
I think all of us, when we get past 50, should start to write our biographies and do a self-portrait before we die. (I say this laughing due to another reference to the film Flight Club) Starting Out in the Evening last clearly states that to reach maturity takes a good deal of time and life experience. Youth has its day but not for long and definitely not forever as in a picture, book, magazine or song.
I would love reading my mother’s, grandfather’s or my aunt’s biography now! Unfortunately they did not write one. So I gather what I can from others and from what’s left behind about their lives.
Not all of us will be accomplished authors… but to our loved ones we can become accomplished authors by writing our biographies for them. As I get older this is what’s most important to me…any fame or future is just a little pinch of the pleasure of sharing who I am with others, especially my loved ones.
Grasping and sharing the story of my life, for I will someday die… sounds like fun too me!!
The picture above is me. I was 18 months old. I did not want to have my picture-portrait taken. I was nervous, scared and biting my fingers nails….
Reading, watching and listening are all good and fine. I’ve done a lot of these things in my time. Writing is something different altogether. It is a focused act or process of sharing. I use to be afraid to write. Going back to my school days I noticed it was always the smart kids that did the writing. I could barely write a sentence without feeling a deep sense of stupidity and peer pressure. In high school I think I wrote one essay and it seemed as foreign to me as learning another language. Then in time I became hip to the game by writing simple things such as live band reviews, and record reviews for a music fanzine. This little bit of writing opened a door for me; it gave me a voice that I did not know I had. Writing, editing and rewriting became an art form that I love. I am still making up for a weak elementary educational foundation: which has improved and can’t be that bad since I put myself through a BA and Master’s program; which is all about writing.
Now I am addicted to writing. I continue to learn about it too. I would say right now I find writing is more important to me than reading blogs. As a crone this is a natural part of my DNA… to share my stories!! I am hanging out around the fire with the old hags sharing my fairy tales or folksy wisdom; which is the accumulation of knowledge and experience. The fire is now a computer and my stories are shared via a WordPress blog.
The menopause is probably the least glamorous topic imaginable; and this is interesting, because it is one of the very few topics …to which cling some shreds and remnants of taboo. A serious mention of menopause is usually met with uneasy silence; a sneering reference to it is usually met with relieved sniggers. Both the silence and the sniggering are pretty sure indications of taboo.
~ Ursula K. Guin
Halloween and Day of the Dead, the next six months are all about autumn and winter, which is the dying and the silence of nature. This is symbolic in some places of the world more than others. I know that while living on the east coast in Rochester New York I distinctly experienced this pulling in and introspection of the seasons, this brings me to Persephone.
In Greek mythology she is the daughter of Demeter who is raped by Hades king of the dead. A godly deal is made between Demeter and Hades. For 6 months of the year Persephone lives with her mother above the earth during spring and summer, and for 6 months during autumn and winter she lives with Hades.
Even though she was raped this is what the Gods agreed too.
Stencil by Hudley Flipside
“She held the keys to heaven and hell.”
~ Elysium, Tartarus
Before Persephone was raped by a patriarchal culture that created this Greek story, she was queen of the underworld, destroyer and a great crone. My favorite image is of her wearing a black robe while stirring a cauldron. She has many names and Hecate is one of them.
Persephone is part of the turning triangle also known as the triple goddess Demeter: virgin, mother, and crone. If we break down the meaning of the word Demeter, we have meter “mother” and “delta” also known as “the letter of the vulva.”
“The Doorway of the Mysterious Feminine… the root from which heaven and earth sprang.”
Orphic mystics worshiped Persephone as Goddess of the blessed Dead.
“And now I come a suppliant to the Holy Persephone, that of her grace she received me to the seats of the Hallowed” Persephone answered” Happy and blessed one, thou shalt be god instead of mortal.”
Much of this information is passed on historically through the study of the Eleusinian mysteries. They are focused on the Homeric hymn to Demeter where Persephone plays her part especially at this time of the year. She is the older woman or crone.
This above introduction to Persephone is a way into my personal relationship with her. I am now walking towards the way of the crone. This particular autumn and winter are special to me because I am starting the walk of “Eleusis” or the advent towards the mysterious feminine where a doorway is opened to me. This winter is a full year since my womb became silent. Symbolically I see myself as a multi-colored-darkened flower that once bloomed, but now faces downward ready to fall towards the earth. It is a sad time but also a time of great change and power. I can feel it.
What I am experiencing parallels, as a synchronicity, with the current autumn and winter of 2012. I am sure that there are many other women walking this path now as well.
I do not find many stories about what I am experiencing which is why I am sharing my story. To find and nurture another or inspire and affirm with another… is my hope.
I am not ashamed of the subtle calling that pulls me on; it is an ancient one that I share closely with other women and my dear Persephone.
On my blog I have put up an image of an Owl. The image is taken from an ancient Greek coin used in the Eleusinian mysteries. Women involved in this ritualistic mystery wore these large coins on their heads. I am using my rendering of the image in a different way.
I am creating my own personal ritual by having the image tattooed on the top of both of my wrists. I will do this in the next two weeks as an action that symbolizes my personal journey in becoming a crone.
Since our culture ignores this part of a woman’s life, I found I needed to create this ritual and to bring forth my knowledge of Persephone and the owl as a cumulative experience.
March 2016
Five years have passed. Life is feeling normal again. I lost both parents and went through the worst of the worst. I visited the underworld and received help from a Jungian therapist to walk with me on my dark journey. ‘Art, writing and poetry’ is the healing force that pulled me into a new world. I embrace the triple Goddess within myself.
My libido is different. I see the world with new eyes. Life, pain, fear, love, desire all are different as new friends. I need less. I am close to nature and the elements. It is beyond words. Life is still challenging at times especially growing older. I do not feel alone and continue to work with such mysteries.
I am another woman who is initiated
bless all the women as well
before me and after me.
For this is the advent of the Eleusinian mysteries!!
Hudley’s Tattoos.
Sources: *The Woman’s Encyclopedia of Myths and Secrets by Barbara G. Walker: *The Element Encyclopedia of Secret Signs and Symbols by Adele Nozedar: *Eleusis, Archetypal Image of Mother and Daughter by Carl Kerenyl.
“My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pain / My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk.” ~ ~ John Keats
The trusting woods?
The unsuspecting trees
Brought out their burrs and mosses
His fantasy to please.
He scanned their trinkets, curious,
He grasped, he bore away.
What will the solemn hemlock,
What will the fir-tree say?
by: Emily Dickinson (1830-1886)
Can a fir-tree say anything to humanity? What is Dickinson projecting onto the hemlock and fir-tree?
“The trusting woods” is a statement of observation which is the perfect blending of the subjective and the objective. For a fir-tree to get big and strong means years of growth, trusting that the sun, rain and moisture from the earth will be dependable. The woods have all the natural processes for life and photosynthesis to occur, the seasons and the arch of the heavens brightly shown as confidence in an abundant life. How dependable nature is. Does humanity think often about the great relationship it has with the “trusting woods” for oxygen? Our world economy is rooted deep in the “unsuspecting trees.”
“His …He…He…He” enters the poem objectively. Actions that bring great conflict to the passivity of nature as “His fancy, He scanned, He grasped.” This is the rape of nature. The sixth line of the poem states that,” He scanned their trinkets, curious,” is an objective statement showing the desire of “He” for the trinkets. This word speaks of those things in nature that are precious; trinkets are the jewels of nature. Nature then becomes an object to be “grasped” taken and used for the “fancy” of “He.” He is the “Who” that has robbed the woods.
Dickinson uses the “solemn hemlock” in her poem as the one witness to the rape of nature. An action “He” does against the “woods.” A beautiful poisonous plant is alerted to this action against the woods. The hemlock has a conscience. The hemlock knows it is wrong, and the inward reaction is the feeling of being solemn. “He” is poisonous to nature. This is a contrary idea. It is commonly known that the hemlock plant is poisonous yet, in Emily Dickinson’s poem, the “hemlock” is the face of truth.
Nature has a conscience in this poem, and “He” does not.
